


Calm before the storm

by rainyndigo



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 1970's, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24261526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainyndigo/pseuds/rainyndigo
Summary: "Richie swallowed, then with his hand, shaking, he grabbed Eddie's much smaller one and held it tight. That night, when Richie Tozier was laying in his bed, feathery pillow under his head and curls spread out he thought of him. "
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Kudos: 16





	Calm before the storm

In 1975 the summertime heat was scorching in dusty, small-town Derry, Maine. Burning rays of sunshine hit the roads and seeped into the thick asphalt, making it impossible to stay outside for more than half an hour at a time. 

Couples went to the movie theater, sat down and watched the screen, mesmerized for hours clutching at each others hands, playing with each other's hair and not really doing anything else because it was still much too hot. Elders sat in the Derry Library and read books - escaping to places where it was cooler and beautiful - and fanned themselves with torn pages of the _Derry News_ , the wrinkles creasing their face heavier than ever.

So it was no surprise that when a single drop of rain fell on the dark skin of one of the farmers delivering crops to town - slowly driving his pickup truck, calloused hand resting in the window- he started laughing. At first calm and contained, then so full of joy it could be mistaken for the cackle of a madman.

'Thank the Lord! Thank Him!' he bellowed, then started laughing as if he didn't believe his own two eyes and stuck both his veiny hands out the open window, feeling several more drops drizzle down his knuckles. 'I's rainin'! Finally, i's rainin'.'

That night it thundered like the sky was going to collapse. Like the storm was trying to rip every shriveled-up leaf from the unfortunate trees almost bent in half by the howling wind. Rain pounded the locked windows of homes and flowed in streams down the steaming pavement. The fresh water mixed with the dirty slush of sewage overflowing from the drains, carrying dead fish and shit down the roads of Derry. In the morning, the sun didn't shine. Huge, grey clouds crowded in front of it painting the town in unsettling hues of blue and green. The rain never stopped pouring and soon flooded the narrower streets completely, water submerging cars and trucks, letting them rust. People were, once again, confined to their houses.

Years later, if someone were to ask Derry-folk, about the summer of '75 they would talk about how horrible the drought was, 'When I say crops didn't grow, I mean it. There was only a couple o' fields o' corn left, and the wheat? Hah! Let's not even talk about tha'! Terrible, I say, terrible!' and they would tell tales of the flood, hands clasped together in front of their chest 'Oh, I remember it like it was yesterday! We couldn't go out on the streets; it was that bad. Water, sewage's up to our knees! Truly terrible!' What they would never talk about however were the children that went missing afterwards. The children who disappeared without a trace, sometimes from their homes or from the playground. The ones whose bodies would turn up weeks later, a bloated and mangled mess of bloody limbs and bruised bones, carried by the Kenduskeag, down the canal or by greywater to the opening of drainpipes.

Perhaps they didn't talk about it because after a while it became almost normal to step out on the street and see flyers, with the faces of young kids, declaring that they haven't been seen for over two weeks or maybe they didn't mention the horrors of the town because something compelled them not to. Either way the dead children stayed the secret of Derry, buried deep inside the town and while others didn't know about it, brutality echoed between the trees and houses, the grotesque truth bounced on the walls of canals and sewers and the blood curdling shriek of the dead could almost be heard.

~

Birds chirping, leaves rustling in the warm, summer wind and the sound of music echoed in the Barrens, alongside with childish giggling and singing. They were really not supposed to be down there, not after all the mysterious murders, the disappearances. The seven of them were supposed to be in town at the arcade, beating each other's ass in Jet Fighter, or at the Aladdin watching a comedy picture, but the Losers' Club found, they didn't give a damn. If they wanted to, they would enjoy their summer break however they liked.

They _would_ run through the woods chasing imaginary tigers, and hiding from giant, imaginary snakes, with forked tongues the size of their forearm and venomous teeth sharper than a knife's edge. Their tiny hands _would_ cut their way through the wilderness, thick vines hanging from imaginary tropical trees, like they were waiting to be slashed by twelve-year-old kids. They _would_ explore the Barrens - their own little imaginary jungle - until they knew every passage through the leaves spread out in the dirt. And yes, they _would_ sing along to Killer Queen, sitting in their secret clubhouse, a rickety hideaway made of wood and built in the ground.

They were lounging in a loose circle, a small black radio with a silver antenna placed in the middle. Beverly Marsh was sitting on the ground to the right of Bill Denbrough - _Big Bill -_ and Mike Hanlon their heads covered with polyester shower caps, singing with a smile plastered to their face, their voice jumping almost an octave higher at the part where Freddie Mercury declared that _she_ was _"extraordinarily nice"._ Ben Hanscom - _Haystack -_ decided to plop down besides the girl as well, looking uncomfortable in a green turtleneck sweater, shy but not the fat kid without friends anymore. Stan Uris was sitting on an old box - perhaps Mike had brought it from their farm, outside of Derry - his long legs folded under him at an awkward angle, humming and banging the box's side to the rhythm. The hammock, tied to the pillars of the clubhouse was occupied by two people, instead of the more widely accepted one. Eddie Kaspbrak was lying on his back his short legs propped on the thighs of Richie - _Trashmouth_ \- Tozier who was belting the song at the top of his lungs and out of tune.

'Richie, would you shut up for a second! I'm trying to enjoy the song, but all I hear is you screaming like a pregnant monkey!' Eddie snapped and tried to deliver a kick with his sock clad feet to the boy's face however, before his foot connected with skin, Richie caught his ankle and pushed forward. Eddie's hands flew out to grab onto something before both of them were dumped out of the hammock. 'Fuck you!'

'Yowza, Eds gets off a good one!' cried the boy, seizing his friend's other leg trying to push it out of the way in order to jab his fingers into Eddie's side, screaming _"perfume came naturally from Paris"_ into the other's face.

'Guys, stop it', Beverly said, a fit of giggles rippling through her 'you're gonna’ fall and then we'll be the assholes for laughing at you.'

' _Oh Beverly, ma da'ling..._ ', Richie drawled in a British accent which didn't sound British at all, still struggling to wrestle the smaller boy in the thin material of the hammock ' _'tis truly an honor, tha' you worry yo' pretty little heart, but me and this lad here are going to be just fi-_ ' with a huge tug Eddie finally freed his left foot from his friend's grip, which - as predicted - sent them both tumbling to the ground. Richie gasped, glasses, thick as a coke bottle flying off the bridge of his nose and Eddie shrieked, a shrill and girly sound (Henry Bowers and his team of pig-like boys would inform him later while giving him the town's largest wedgie). Both boys ended up rolling in the dirt, dust sticking to their sweat-damped skin and their clothes. All the other Losers laughed and Stan struggled to keep himself upright atop the box, not wanting to join their friends laying at their feet.

'S-s-ee, we t-told you!' Bill said between chuckles.

'Richie, you idiot!' Eddie screeched 'What did you think was going to happen hm? Do you-do you even know how fucking dirty this place is? It's gross, there are probably five spiders crawling around in my hair now, and-and look at my fucking socks' he lifted his foot 'they were white, now they're brown. God, my mom is gonna’ kill me, she's gonna’ kill you guys first, so stop fucking laughing!'

'Oh, calm thyself Eddie' Richie said pushing himself up 'who even wears socks in the summer? You huge spaz, come here' he threw an arm around Eddie's shoulders then reached for his glasses and placed them back on the bridge of his nose 'I'm sorry Spaghetti-man okay. Should I kiss it better?' He grinned and leaned down, making obnoxious kissing sounds aiming for the other's round cheek.

'Stooop, that's gross' Eddie pushed Richie's face away, but he was laughing as well 'and don't call me that' he gave a halfhearted push to emphasize his point but made no attempt to remove the lanky arm draped around his shoulder. The others were coming down from the high laughing gave them, Mike wiping tears, that escaped his eyes and Ben still snorting from time to time.

'Anyways, don't know 'bout you lot, but I'm craving a smoke. Bev, you got any Winstons left?' asked Richie, locking eyes with the girl.

'Sure, but next time it's your turn to buy 'em, ' Beverly said, fishing the paper pack and some matches out of her front pocket 'I can't be the only one giving these guys lung cancer, can I Trashmouth?' she slid a cigarette out from the silvery paper tucked on the inside of the packet, then passed it to Bill, who then passed it to Mike, who handed it over to Richie.

'Fine, fine. Sharing is caring, and we all know who the most caring person here is, am I right or am I right?' he said taking a cigarette between his lips then looked expectantly at Eddie 'You want one Eds?' the question came out as a jumble of lisped words.

'No, but I'll visit you, when you're dying in the hospital at the age of thirty'

'You're literally the lamest person I know. Look, even Stan's gonna’ smoke one. Inn'it right Stan?' he lisped again, the cigarette moving up and down in his mouth as he threw the box at his friend. It landed in his lap.

'Sure. Why not?' On the side opposite of Richie, Beverly struck a match and lit her cigarette, turning to Bill and Mike, helping them out as well.

'That's the spirit! See?' Richie let the cigarette tumble from his lips. Finally, Ben - to everyone's surprise - took one from the red and white packet as well, turning to Beverly with an apologetic shrug. It would have made him look cool if he wasn't wearing and oversized green sweater in the middle of the summer, decorated by grease and dirt stains and didn't have a blush running up his neck and spreading over his chubby cheeks like wildfire when he met the girl's eyes.

Seconds later bluish smoke began the fill the clubhouse, curling and dancing in the air, raising higher and higher, towards the sky. It left the secret hideaway, then the Barrens, then Derry itself, never turning back and forgetting those things ever existed. Richie sat there, his eyes following the six trails left behind, wondering if they - the Losers - would become turbid smoke one day. Escape their town and runaway far, further than their imagination ever took them. Leave Derry and leave Maine, run further than the jungles and the uninhabited islands they were so enamored by, break through the universe and arrive in another. He looked over at Beverly. The girl's head was tilted back, curls of auburn hair falling like a curtain of fire in front of her closed eyes. She looked more peaceful than ever somehow, lying there inhaling then exhaling stinging smoke, full lips curling upwards every now and then as if she were watching the greatest story unfold behind her eyelids. Mike rested his chin on his drawn-up knee, thoughtfully staring off into the distance. The last rays of warm, afternoon sunshine bathed him in gold, painting his skin caramel. It was quiet.In that moment they were one. Breathing and living and probably one day dying as one person. A soft breeze rustling leaves and branches together and birds singing of something humans would never understand were the only indicators that they were still in reality. And that reality was still around them. Then Ben coughed and Stanley did too. Eddie wasn't far behind, grabbing for his inhaler and sucking bitter medicine into his lungs.

'Ugh, this is disgusting,' Eddie moaned, pushing himself away from the ground ' and you guys voluntarily let that stuff get into your bodies!' he stood up and dusted the back of his red shorts, then his scraped knees.

'Hey, hey, hey, where do you think you're going Eds? The fun's just beginning!' said Richie.

'Still not my name and in case you haven't noticed before, I'll enlighten you now. I have asthma dickhead,' Eddie shook his plastic inhaler, reminding the other boy of a small bird with way too many ruffled feathers 'if I stay in this place any longer I could realistically choke and die or-or-or I could get pneumonia first and then choke and die, but that would be more painful!'

'Eddie, my man, Mrs. K. choked on something too, and it wasn't sm-'

'No! No, I don't want you to finish that sentence! Besides, if I'm not home before it gets dark, my mom's gonna’ freak, so you can't make me stay' Eddie said, hands on the wooden ladder mounted at the entrance 'I don't want to spend another full week of my summer at the hospital anyways.' 

_Only a few day after school was out for the children of Derry, Eddie and Richie - both a sweating mess in the unbearably hot and dry weather - went to get ice cream. The boys mounted their bicycles- Richie's a faded pastel blue, the paint chipped the most just under the handlebars, and Eddie's a small, ruby bike, shiny, but definitely an ancient model as well - and drove them out on the main road. They decided to race down the steep slope - as boys do - which resulted in a draw, Richie pedaling over the finish line they agreed on with a victorious scream and Eddie sliding over it on his knees with a painful one. Sonia Kaspbrak - Eddie Kaspbrak's comically overweight mother, with a waist wider than his son, times two - picked him up from the side of the road with blood running down Eddie's legs and tears running down his scrunched up face, dirt and gravel stuck in the open wound of his knees. Richie got yelled at for an alarmingly long five minutes and Eddie was immediately rushed to the local hospital, where he spent the proceeding week._

'I'll go with you Spaghetti, wouldn't want the boogeyman to get you on your way home.' Richie stubbed his cigarette out and flicked the creased but somewhere to the back of the clubhouse. He groaned and stretched and started climbing the ladder as well 'See ya' tomorrow losers!' The others waved at them, then Bill said, his blue eyes stormy:

'S-stay s-sa-safe!' and, with every fiber of his being, he meant it.

~

The Sun was slowly slipping off the sky, disappearing behind the horizon, drowning in a sea of red and orange and purple. Richie and Eddie walked along rows of white houses surrounded by picket fences, with the American flag hoisted close to the roofs.

The boys talked about what they would do the next day, wondered what magical place Big Bill would take them to. Maybe they would travel to the desert, where ferocious winds tore the sand off the ground carrying it until their eyes and noses and mouths were full with the stuff, or maybe they would travel to a big city, like Chicago or New York, to try and catch criminals between skyscrapers, standing tall around them.

'Maybe we'll go to the gravel pit to set off some firecrackers,' Richie supplied 'I heard Stan just bought a package of Black Cats.'

'We haven't done that in a while have we?' Eddie looked at Richie 'Last time we went down there we beat the shit out of Bowers and his gang.'

'Hell, yeah we did! Rock war, round one GO!' bellowed Richie in the voice of an announcer - deep and serious - declaring the commencement of a boxing match and jumped forward pretending to hurl rocks at an invisible enemy. Unarticulated sounds escaped his mouth, ones that could be coal and rocks and gravel hitting people in the face and in the ribs, bloodying noses and foreheads or, a twelve-year-old boy punching the air and wailing. Eddie was looking at his friend, a fond smile tugging at the corner of his thin lips, then when Richie turned to him, pushing the thick frame of his glasses up the glistening slope of his nose , huge grin plastered over his face Eddie started laughing too. They both did, laughing with abandon the two of them ran down the street, brunette hair falling into their eyes and sticking to their skin. They screamed and chuckled, then screamed again and chucked imaginary pieces of stone at something in front of them.

'They ran, they actually ran!' Eddie said - his breath coming raggedly from his lungs - like he still didn't believe _they -_ the Losers' Club - fought off the big kids.

'Ye-yeah they did! Get-get this Eds!' Richie panted. He pushed his curls back, planted his dusty palms on the nape of his neck and scrunched his face in a way that would indicate, Richie Tozier, took a huge bite from a lemon 'I'm Henry Bowers andI'm a huge pussy. Couldn't even beat kids half my fucking size!' the boy chuckled again, letting his hair rest atop the brown frame of his glasses once more. 

Then it was calm again, nothing could be heard but the boys' battered and muddy sneakers colliding with the asphalt, a quiet thud, and their wheezing intakes of air. Crickets chirped and the muted sound of television static or the news broadcast seeped through open windows. Shadows stretched long and morphed into all kinds of shapes that didn't look like anything in particular. Didn't look like trees or bushes, nor the dogs laying under them, eyes droopy and their tails tucked under their resting bodies. They didn't look like Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrak soundly walking along Main street, then taking a right turn, nimble fingers colliding from time to time, unsure whether they should slide over enticing knuckles and curl around each other or pull away completely.

Eddie was staring straight ahead, his mouth pressed into a strict line, pink blush blooming over his fair skin, beautiful, like a rose when caressed by warm sunshine. If he wanted to, he could have easily said _'Sorry Richie, t'was an accident'_ and stepped to the side, leaving a void of space between them. But childish curiosity was driving him to do the exact opposite. To venture closer, sink his hand in the push palm of Richie's - even if it was sweaty and crawling with germs - and never let go. His stomach churned and his skin felt like it was struck with a million small particles of ice, his arm braking out in gooseflesh. He felt want, of the most innocent kind, his body not yet being able to feel anything but that.

Richie chanced a glance at his friend, staring at his round and pink cheeks and the way his slender neck disappeared behind the collar of his coral shirt, from behind his glasses. For the first time in his life, Richie's vision clouded and a warmth gathered in the pit of his belly, flames and something else - he couldn't quite put his finger on at that age - burning him from the inside out. He wondered what he would see if Eddie peeled away his carefully ironed collar while they were out playing. He also wondered what it would feel like to touch the stretch of pale skin, run the tip of his bony fingers up the side, then drag them down the very front. Richie swallowed, then with his hand, shaking, he grabbed Eddie's much smaller one and held it tight. They had held hands many times before of course, but it had never felt like this. The contact was searing, because sparks flew and their palms stuck together, warmth crawling up their arms until it reached their shoulder blades, hidden under the polyester layer of their clothes.

They both exhaled, then they smiled.

~

Minutes later, when they arrived at Eddie's house, they were still holding hands. Richie had started swinging their clasped palms at one point, and Eddie went along with it, because he admired the other boy and because holding his hand made the butterflies residing in his stomach flap their colorful wings wildly.

To people who didn't know them, it might have looked like childish behavior, two small-town boys teasing each other, waiting for the other to let go first, so one of them could win their made-up little game. To Sonia Kaspbrak it would have looked like a disgrace. Mouthy and disrespectful _Richard Tozier_ soiling his precious and innocent son, making him look like a diseased boy, a dirty queer. Richie's father, Wentworth Tozier would have simply been embarrassed. He would have run a shaking and aged hand through his hair, would have rubbed his tired eyes and groaned. Then he would’ve went back to reading the papers.

The boys came to a reluctant stop and with that, the moment ended and their private bubble of soft, comforting warmth broke - too soon, though neither of them would have admitted to it. Eddie let go of his friend’s hand, allowing it dangle freely besides his narrow hips. He cleared his throat, then darted his brown eyes from left to right, fidgeted with the hem of his shorts covering his left thigh, bunched up the red fabric over his right, then cleared his throat again.

'Um, Richie,' he looked up and their eyes met 'I, uh, I-' 

The cheap watch wrapped around Eddie's bony wrist screeched, the beeping louder than ever, breaking through the quiet of the street, echoing off the white walls of Derry homes. Both boys jumped, Richie blinked - once, twice, three times - his bug eyes fluttering behind his glasses while Eddie silenced the offending watch.

'Shit, I really have to go now,' Eddie's pale throat bobbed as he swallowed unsure of _something_ ’I'llseeyoutomorrowRich!' He wrapped his frail arms around Richie's shoulders in a haste, the fire that set them both alight on their way towards the Kaspbrak home, entirely gone now. He hugged Richie like it didn't mean a thing. Holding Eddie’s hand had felt like something forbidden, something _the adults_ would do. But the hug didn’t feel like that. It wasn’t warm and it wasn’t thrilling.

When he ran up to the front door, Eddie didn't look back, didn't look into Richie's eyes like he did when he wanted to say something. Because he _did want to say something_ , didn't he? It echoed in Richie's head like a mocking laugh in the face _'Um Richie, I, uh, I...’._ The sentence - unfinished - bounced around his skull and tickled his insides. _Ants - he thought - they're crawling around inside me, I can feel them in my gut, up my throat and in my mouth and my head and my eyes, fuck, they're behind my eyes and they're gonna’ crawl out and it's going to hurt so much!_

'You were going to say something...' he muttered but no insects spilled from his mouth, they inched back into his stomach instead. 

~

That night, when Richie Tozier was laying in his bed, feathery pillow under his head and curls spread out he thought of him. Small Eddie, who couldn’t reach the top shelf in most stores and who filled with burning rage every time he realized. Sweet Eddie, who had cute, pinchable cheeks lightly dusted with freckles – especially noticeable in the summer. Eddie Kaspbrak who was a _boy_. Richie thought of him until sleep silently approached and swept him off to the mysterious land of dreams.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading my first story, I hope you enjoyed it. Comments and reviews are always welcome. Until next time, much love. ~Rainy


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